Dale Morris
I have been alone here for six long months. But never mind the lack of human company - I am truly happy with my beach, my paradise, my own forest, my own cliffs, my own sun and moon.
Costa Rica, so full of people, tourists, busy beaches and overbooked hotels, but not here, not at Nancite. Nobody lives in this place except myself. Sixty kilometers from the nearest settlement, it is a tiny dot on a map, set aside for its importance to the world of animals.
Permits are issued to those who want to come and see its wonders, but they seldom do - its too much effort to walk the demanding miles of muddy trails that one must traverse on foot to get here. I am allowed though, this is my research site, my beach, my paradise, my forest, my cliffs, my day and night and my own private natural marvels.
The very last hues of Tangerine and saffron fade into a deep textured Indigo like that of plush velvet drapes, streaked by a radial fan of hazy red fingers. The darkening sky, a star-studded blackness, advances slowly but surely, like treacle, over the fading colors. Inky black silently envelops the earth below and signifies the end of another hot balmy day. I peer out to sea and wait for them to come- it wont be long now.
Santa Rosa National park lies on the Central American Pacific coast and is one of the major breeding grounds for the Olive Ridley Sea turtle. I am here in order to study these huge 45kg animals as they lumber out of the sea to lay their eggs under the warm tropical sand. I have no electricity, no telephone, no outside contact what so ever- a stark change from London my hometown.
On one night, every month during the summer, they arrive in their thousands, filling up the beach so that there is no space to walk. It is one of the true spectacles of the natural world.
The first night.
By eleven forty five this one kilometer stretch of sand has become congested with shelled reptiles, in places, stacked two or three high in the headlong scramble to find a viable nesting spot.
I am knocked off my feet (literally as well as metaphorically) whilst making my way as best I can up and down the beach. This is only the beginning of four nights falling down deep holes previously abandoned by digging turtles. My ankles and shins are bruised and swollen from the repeated butting and scraping of turtles totally oblivious to my presence. They have but one goal, to dig, to lay, to return to the sea.
With up to twenty thousand miniature tanks trundling their way towards me, beach space is at a premium.
The third night.
I am suffering from severe sleep deprivation. Coffee supplies have long since run out and I have begun to hallucinate. In the darkness I imagine the elongated shapes of nonexistent crocodiles lurking between the turtles while human shadows flick in and out of the edges of my vision.
The fourth night.
At three in the morning the turtle numbers start to wind down. Eventually there are less than a hundred of them on the beach, a great opportunity to catch a quick nap before I declare the riot officially over.
I pull my white sheet out of my backpack and make myself comfortable above the high tide mark and within seconds I have fallen into a deep sleep.
It seems only moments later that I awake with the sensation that something warm and wet has just touched my face. In my groggy state I can just make out the silhouette of an animal standing over my outstretched feet. It is not a turtle!
In the near complete darkness I arrive at the conclusion that a rather bold coyote has discovered me and has come to take a closer look. I sit bolt upright, fully expecting the coyote to realize it's mistake, turn tail and flee, but still the dark shape does not move.
When I finally get my flashlight to work and point it at the offending shape I get the shock of my life. Standing not two meters away from me, illuminated in the yellow light of the torch beam is a full-grown male jaguar.
"Whoosh" an instant hit of adrenalin, time slows down, my senses snap to focus with a clarity I am unfamiliar with.
For some strange reason, my initial reaction is to bombard this huge cat with a string of foul language at the top of my voice. This has no effect; he just stands there, motionless with his beautiful amber eyes staring into my own. I then remember my sheet and the golden rule of look bigger, look bigger, when facing a predator. So begins a frantic sheet waving session. I flap it over and around my head and flick it out towards his motionless figure but he is not impressed!
Seeing as this does not terrify him into making a speedy retreat, I hurl the sheet directly at him. It covers the front of his body completely, but then he shakes that enormous head of his and the sheet falls to the ground and rests crumpled at his forepaws.
Time for plan C! Crouching down I begin to throw handfuls of sand at him, the only available material on the beach, but the wind prevents any of my badly aimed missiles from hitting home, I succeeded only in getting a mouth full of sand and half blinding myself.
Then I remembered the big steel calipers I use for measuring turtles. They are on the ground behind me. I grab them and start to beat the sand at the jaguar's feet. This goes on for some moments, but eventually he turns and trots back towards the forest. He stops again, about ten meters away from me and turns his head to look one more time with piercing eyes. Then with a flick of his mottled tail, he is gone.
The following morning.
I return to the scene of the encounter. In the sand, the imprint of my sleeping form is clearly discernible, and next to it the prints of the jaguar are placed either side of where my head had been.
Everyone comes to Costa Rica with the hope of catching a glimpse of the world's most magnificent cat. Virtually none of these people will realize this dream, this animal is almost extinct due to human persecution.
I feel privileged and honoured to have had this experience, and I only need close my eyes to see his eyes, amber within amber, and feel the warmth of his kiss upon my face
Dale Morris and his wife Sasha left Great Britain 11 years ago and he has written numerous articles about wild animals in Costa Rica since 1997. Dale works as a freelance nature writer and photographer and his work has been published in BBC Wildlife, Geographical and Global Adventure and regularly contributes to 'Costa Rica Outdoor' Magazine and Asahi weekly in Japan.
Together, Dale and his wife have worked in Australia, Thailand, Indonesia, Nigeria, Kenya, Tanzania, Costa Rica and Scotland and have been attacked by mosquitoes, killer ants, monkeys, chimpanzees, jaguars, fish with sharp teeth, scorpions, bees, bears, giraffe, elephants and drunken Scotsmen during that time.
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